


tasted just like all the things i was missing

by itsactuallycorrine



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Curtain Fic, Drabble Collection, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-01 18:29:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4030171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsactuallycorrine/pseuds/itsactuallycorrine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a collection of drabbles/oneshots from tumblr prompts</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. friendship set on fire

**Author's Note:**

> i know what you're thinking, "really, corrine, another bellarke work with a sleater-kinney title?"*  
> and yes, internet, yes, another one. i am drunk on my own power
> 
> *disclaimer: i am already fully aware that there are maybe only 3 of you that are thinking this and the rest of you are probably wondering what a sleater-kinney is. GOOGLE IT; _you're welcome._

In retrospect, Bellamy will always wonder why it didn’t rain that day. It’s the kind of day, he’ll come to realize, where it rains in movies, Protagonist A showing up on the doorstep soaked to the bone while Protagonist B is blithely unaware their life is about to change forever.

Instead, it’s a normal, sunny day, a little on the warm side for April, but he’s not going to complain.

Especially not when it’s Clarke he finds on the other side of the door.

“You knock now?” he says with a smirk as he lets her in. “You’re lucky I was in the right mood to answer.”

She doesn’t say anything, moving past him into the apartment without looking his way. 

“Clarke?” He closes the door and follows her straight back to the kitchen, frowning in concern. She remains silent, opening his cabinets with a familiarity bred from years of friendship. He raises a brow when he sees that she’s pulled down two shot glasses, then sighs. “All right,” he says, moving towards the cabinet above the fridge with the booze in it. It’s the only cabinet that’s tall enough that only he can reach it, which had been his insurance policy to prevent Octavia’s underage drinking when they were all younger. “What’s your poison tonight?”

“Tequila,” she says and he understands now why she didn’t speak earlier. Her voice is a broken thing, scratchy and ragged, thin with despair. Looking up, he can see now the signs he missed before - red, swollen eyes and quivering chin. Clarke had been crying before coming to him. 

Instead of commenting on it, he pulls the Cuervo down and opens it. “I don’t have any limes, but there’s salt.” He fills each glass, but she doesn’t even wait for him to set the bottle down, taking the shot with nothing more than a slight wince.

“I don’t need them,” she says, stealing the bottle from his hand and filling up her glass. She pauses and nudges his shot towards him before she downs her second one. “Keep up.”

He closes his eyes and swallows the tequila, shuddering as it hits the back of his throat. It’s never been his drink of choice, but he’s not about to refuse Clarke when she’s been  _crying._ After the taste fades from his tongue, he blinks, only to find that Clarke isn’t in front of him anymore. He turns on his heels and sees her moving to his couch, bottle tucked firmly under one arm while she balances a full shot glass in the other hand.

“Are you going to clue me in, princess? Or are we going to drink this entire bottle in silence?”

She stares at him for a long beat, face enigmatic, eyes flinty blue. “Lexa dumped me,” she says, chasing that revelation with her third shot before she tips the bottle towards him, barely waiting before he has the glass in place before she pours.

His entire chest squeezes as he tosses back his second shot. He’d never cared for Lexa, hadn’t really had much of a chance to know her beyond what Clarke had told him. But he hates that Clarke is hurting, that she cried. “I’m sorry,” he says sincerely, knowing it’s a faint consolation. “Do you want to talk about it?”

The way she’s staring at him, like he’s something on a slide beneath her microscope, makes him uneasy, but he hides it by stealing the bottle from her and pouring himself another, making them even at three. He hates when she’s like this, when he can’t read her. He’s  _always_  able to read her, to know what she’s thinking, predict which way she’s going to jump. 

“Not yet,” she says at length, holding out her glass in demand, which he obliges. “Soon, but... not yet. Tell me about your day.”

 

* * *

 

Soon ends up being three hours later, after they’re sufficiently drunk off their asses. Bellamy forces Clarke to drink a few cups of water and orders Chinese food online, a feat that always makes him marvel over the wonders of the modern world, drunk or not.

It’s as they’re fighting over the carton of pork fried rice that Clarke blurts, “Lexa was always jealous of you,” and diverts Bellamy enough that she’s able to wrestle the food away from him.

He stares. “Really?”

She avoids his gaze as she shovels some rice out onto a plate. “She never understood our friendship, told me that I cared about you more than my other friends.”

Bellamy scoffs. “Obviously she’s never had a best friend.”

“That’s what I said,” Clarke exclaims, eyes blurry and wide, waving her chopsticks in the air. “But she told me...” She screws her face up, making him laugh.

“What?” He watches in amazement as her already-flushed face goes crimson. “You have to tell me,” he sing-songs. “Clarke, Clarke,  _Claaaaaaarke_. Tell me.”

“God, you’re annoying when you’re drunk,” she says, but it’s all affection as she grins at him. “This is so stupid, but... Lexa told me that I’m in love with you.”

Something falls on the floor and he only dimly realizes that it’s the potstickers he was holding when Clarke swears at him and all but dives for her precious food. 

She glances at him as she’s blowing the specks of dust that transferred onto a few of the wonton skins. “Say something. You look like you’ve gone catatonic on me.”

Clearing his throat, Bellamy looks down at his feet, then back up at her. “I... don’t know what to say,” he confesses slowly.

“It’s crazy, right?” She chuckles and he pretends it’s not as strained as it sounds. 

“Crazy,” he agrees and starts stuffing his face with food. If his mouth is full, he can’t be forced to talk about this any longer.

“But I mean,” she says a few minutes later, licking her lips and staring hard at her plate, “in a way, it kind of makes sense?”

Bellamy chokes, waving her off as she half-rises in concern. “Does it?” he asks between coughs, fumbling for his glass of water.

She frowns. “You don’t think so?”

He doesn’t even know if he  _can_  think, his head is spinning so fast. He must hesitate too long, because before he knows it, she’s curling in on herself and stabbing a piece of chicken with her chopstick. “Never mind.”

“No, wait,” he says and she snaps her gaze to his. “You kind of sprung this on me. Give me a second to process.”

She rolls her eyes in exasperation. “By all means, take your time.”

Bellamy ignores her and thinks about the bombshell she’s dropped in his lap. He and Clarke have been friends for years. He loves her, but is he in love with her? 

He’s never been shy about showing appreciation for her physically; anyone interested in the female body would have to be dead not to be interested. And, yeah, once or twice (maybe more; he pleads the Fifth) she’s cropped up in some...  _interesting_  dreams. 

He does have a bad habit of comparing every woman he dates to Clarke and he’s yet to find one who doesn’t come up short (figuratively speaking).

He disliked Lexa and he  _hated_  Finn, her old boyfriend, even though he couldn’t ever pin down a good reason for it.

“Huh,” he says in some surprise, making Clarke look up at him. He smiles sheepishly and shrugs. “I guess it does make sense.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” she asks, fighting a grin of her own.

“I’m in love with you.” The words - ones he’s never said to any one else - come easily, like they were always meant to be used for her and her alone. Bellamy figures that’s probably true.

“I’m in love with you,” she says back, squeezing his hand where it lies on the table, then laughs. “I can’t believe this. I kind of hate that Lexa was right.”

He leans forward, pulling her towards him with a jerk of their joined hands. “I don’t,” he says, sealing his mouth over hers.

She groans and curls her free hand around the nape of his neck, and they go up in flames.


	2. curtain fic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this wasn't really a prompt, just a quick drabble for [peacefulboo](http://peacefulboo.tumblr.com)

Clarke is  _hopeless_  at cleaning. Octavia likes to tease her that it’s because she was raised with a housekeeper, which is true.

But in all actuality, Clarke just doesn’t see the mess. Or rather, she sees it, it just doesn’t bother her. 

What  _does_  bother her is all of the unnecessary remarks from Octavia’s brother (and Clarke’s boyfriend) about Clarke’s housekeeping.

“It takes five seconds to wash a plate, Clarke,” Bellamy says as he stands before the sink. She can’t really complain though, not when he’s washing her and Octavia’s dishes. 

Clarke sits on the counter, eating straight from a jar of mixed nuts, and shrugs. “Not when you wait until all the dishes are dirty before you start them.”

He glares at her, elbow deep in the soapy water. “Wash them as you use them, princess. Then it’s not so bad.”

“How do you know I’m not using those five seconds for something more important? What if all those five seconds added up leads to me, I don’t know, curing cancer or the common cold or something?” She grins when he snorts in reluctant amusement.

“The only thing you’re curing is the extinction of mold,” he says dryly, rinsing a plate and putting it in the drainer, and turns to her with a raised brow. “You gonna dry at least?” 

She groans and hops down from the counter, accepting the towel he hands her. She takes the plate he’s just washed and is meticulous about wiping every last drop of water from it. Placing it in the cabinet with pride, she turns to find, much to her dismay, that five more have taken its place in the drainer. “You know,” she ponders as she grabs the next one, “in a way, chores are a metaphor for the futility of existence. No matter how much you progress you think you’ve made, there will always be more plates to wash, more dust to sweep, more grass to cut.”

When she turns back from putting that plate up, she finds Bellamy staring at her. “What?”

He grins and shakes his head, taking the towel from her hand. “Only you could turn washing the dishes into nihilism. You win, go do something meaningful, while I finish up this exercise in futility.”

“Or,” she says stepping closer to him and wrapping an arm around his waist, pressing her herself flush against his torso, delighting in the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “We could both find something meaningful to do.”

He resists for a good, oh, five seconds, before he throws the towel aside with a muttered curse and lifts her back up to the counter, pressing his mouth to the spot just below her ear that makes her purr. “Those dishes need to soak anyway,” he says against her skin and Clarke can’t do anything but hum in agreement.

Honestly, if she’d known he’d be this easy to divert, she would’ve been more enthusiastic about him offering to help her clean.


	3. let's dance, you hot salty nut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "My friend was in the changing rooms and asked me to get a different size in a shirt for her and as a joke I came back with the most riskay lingerie, but I forgot which stall was hers so I guessed and opened up yours on accident and tossed the underwear at you and you screamed because you were half naked and I screamed becaUSE I DIDNT MEAN TO AND OH MY GOD. But you really hot so oh my god."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started tweaking this so using Octavia doesn't come off as squicky, but it deviates quite a bit from the prompt now.  
> this kind of became a college au, but with a blink-and-you'll-miss-it reference

Octavia groans in frustration and Bellamy barely even looks up from his phone from where he's leaning up against the wall outside the women's changing area. "What now?" he asks, as he scrolls down the review he's reading for the latest superhero blockbuster. That had been the deal: he gets dragged along on her shopping trip for her sorority's winter formal and she'd go see the movie of his choice with him. 

After hitting up three stores in a row and spending at least a good 45 minutes in each standing around changing rooms just waiting, he's starting to think he got the raw end of this deal.

The curtain to his sister's dressing room on the end swishes open and he turns, trying not to grin as she scowls. The dress she has on is  _hideous_ \- he'd thought so when she'd pulled it off the rack, but it somehow looks worse now that she has it on. The particular shade of green casts her complexion a sallow yellow, not to mention that the waistline makes her look about five months pregnant.

He pulls a straight face as he nods. "This is the one. I don't think we need to look any further. Lincoln is going to be so...  _amazed_ when he sees you in this dress."

"Shut up," she says, sticking her tongue out and closing the curtain again. A few minutes later, over the rustling, he hears her moan, "Oh _noooo_."

"What happened?" She tells him to hold on, so he turns back to his phone with a shrug, jumping when a handful of purple fabric appears in front of his face. "I always did think that was my color," he says in bemusement, smirking when his sister huffs at him and sticks her face between the edge of the doorway and the curtain.

"It must run small," she tells him, eyes going wide and fluttery. "Get me a bigger size?" He hesitates and she uses her trump card. "C'mon, Bell, I really think this is the one. Get the right size for me and then we can go see your stupid movie."

"It's not stupid," he mutters, but takes the dress anyway. "Fine. But this better be it."

He finds the rack with the other purple dresses quickly; it takes longer to try to comprehend how women's sizes even work (why couldn't they just use measurements?). 

And, really, he's only intending to get the dress, hand it over, and finally end this ordeal.

But halfway to the changing rooms he sees them and can't help but laugh: adult size Spongebob footie pajamas. He pauses in front of them, riffling through the hangers until he finds a pair that look roughly the right size for Octavia - he may or may not compare it to the dress to be sure - and he can't quite resist the devil on his shoulder that makes him grab them off the rack.

He hangs the dress up out of her line of sight and when he hits the entrance of the changing rooms, he smothers his grin and calls, "Are you decent? I'm coming in."

"Go ahead; I've got the next one on."

Bellamy pulls the curtain open and tosses the pajamas in. Before, of course, he has a chance to realize that the very bare, very feminine back he's looking at has a knot of  _blonde_ hair above it, not his sister's dark brown.

The woman screams as soon as the pajamas hit her, turning to face him with the bodice of a dress pressed flat against her chest by her hands, the only thing covering her front. "OH MY GOD, what the  _hell_ do you think you're-"

"Clarke?" he blurts out when he gets a good look at the familiar face.

Light eyebrows fly up her forehead as her blue eyes widen. "Bellamy?"

A curtain swishes behind him and he hears Octavia say, "Bellamy?" as well.

Clarke's attention moves past his shoulder. "Octavia?"

"Clarke?" Octavia says and he can hear the laughter in it now. She hits him on the arm. "Close the curtain, moron, before Clarke gets arrested for indecent exposure."

"Oh, right. Right." Bellamy flushes and closes the curtain with a jerk of his arm, still dumbfounded by Clarke. There. Half-dressed. Just on the other side of the curtain.

Octavia nudges his shoulder, which is better than a cold shower to get his thoughts back in order. "Where's the dress?" 

A snort comes from the other side of the curtain and bright yellow pajamas roll out from the bottom. "Is this what you're looking for?"

"Oh, Bellamy," his sister says with an exasperated sigh.

"I thought it'd be funny." He shrugs, which he hopes doesn't look as petulant as it feels. When O stares at him, he mutters under his breath about how everyone is a critic and reaches around the doorway to get the dress from where it's hanging. "Here," he says, shoving it into her arms.

"Finally. Clarke, when you're done, I want to see," she calls to her sorority sister and Bellamy thinks,  _I'd like to see it, too_ , before he stops himself.

No. No. Clarke is his sister's friend and he'd told himself a long time ago that she was off limits. 

Of course it's easier to say before she pulls her curtain open and he sees her in that dress. His jaw unhinges as he takes in the pale shoulders and bared neckline, all leading down to what has to be the world's best cleavage - his gaze snags for a long moment on the cleavage - upheld by a stiff bodice made of dark bluish-green material with some kind of translucent sparkly netting over it. The blue-green hugs the dip of her waist and the curve of her hip and flares out across her thighs to end above her knees and Bellamy is more turned on now than he's ever been staring at a fully naked woman.

"Wow," Octavia's voice says behind him, quiet with the kind of reverence this dress demands. "Clarke, you look amazing. Doesn't she, Bell?"

He thinks he nods - he must, because Octavia keeps talking - but he knows his expression is out of control, along with his eyes as they run down Clarke's body again.

It's only when Octavia asks Clarke, "So who's your date to the formal?" that he regains his senses in time to snap his gaze to her face. Her very pink face, he notices, as she keeps her attention focused solely on Octavia.

"Raven and I are going together as friends," she says with a small shrug. "Although I keep trying to push her into asking Wick." With this, she finally glances Bellamy's way and he just manages to work up a smirk.

"I'd never hear the end of it. Not that he stops talking about Raven for very long anyway," he says of his roommate/coworker. Kyle Wick's crush on Raven Reyes predates any of their friendships,  as does Raven's obvious reluctance to take Wick seriously. Bellamy's never been shy about telling Wick that he was borderline pathetic to be so hung up on a single girl when college was full of eligible women.

Struggling to keep his gaze above Clarke's neckline, he ignores the laughing in the back of his head that sounds suspiciously like Wick's.

"If she did ask him," Octavia says, "that'd mean you'd be the odd one out, big brother." She bumps her shoulder against his and he glances down at her, finally noticing that she's in the purple dress.

"Looks good," he says, ignoring her comment. "That the one?"

She screws up her face and sighs dramatically. "Damned with faint praise. Yes, I think it is."

"All right, let's go. If we hurry we can make the 8:35 show."

"Fine, fine. Give me a second to change." Octavia glances back to Clarke. "Are you busy tonight? Wanna go see a lame comic book movie?"

Bellamy stresses, "It's _not_ lame," at the same time Clarke says, "God, I've been dying to see that."

He turns to her. "You have?"

"Of course. He's one of my favorite characters and I'm relieved they gave him a standalone," she says with a smile and Bellamy's heart races and his palms feel sweaty. But it's when she adds, "I needed more of him besides what little I got in the Movie-That-Shall-Not-Be Named," that he knows he's a goner.

Clarke likes foul-mouthed, wisecracking, katana-wielding superheroes and hates poorly-paced over-reaching origin stories, and Bellamy has a big, stupid crush on her.

"Yeah," he manages, although his mouth is dry. "My thoughts exactly." And he grins at her, which feels silly, but he doesn't mind, because she's kind of grinning at him in a manner some might consider silly-ish.

"Let's get this over with," Octavia says with a sigh, back in her street clothes as she steps out of the changing room. She stops short and stares. "Clarke, aren't you going to change?"

Clarke glances down at the dress, then smiles sheepishly at Octavia. "Sorry, give me a minute." 

"We'll go pay," Octavia says, hooking her arm through Bellamy's and all but dragging him away. "So, that looked cozy." She shoots him a suspicious glare.

"It was nothing," he lies and nods to the checkout. "Go ahead. I'll wait over here."

Octavia's phone rings while she's checking out and, much to Bellamy's annoyance, she answers it, but before he can come up with some line he'll never live down about how he didn't raise her to behave like that, Clarke is in front of him, distracting in a soft blue sweater and jeans. The blue-green dress is tucked over her arm - along with what looks like the Spongebob footie pajamas.

Eyebrow raised, he looks at her. She bites her lip and smiles and the only word he finds to describe her expression is  _coquettish_. "That's what you're into, right?" she says, batting wide innocent eyes at him, and all the blood rushes out of his head.

Before he can attempt to formulate a reply, Octavia is there, waving her bag around, "Study emergency," she says, grabbing Bellamy's keys from his hand, "I have to go. Clarke, you'll get Bellamy home, right? Great, thanks! Love you guys!"

And she's gone.

Clarke blinks, blindsided by Hurricane Octavia. "Oh."

Rubbing the back of his neck, Bellamy shrugs. "Don't worry about it. I can take the bus."

She stares at him for a long beat before her lips tip up. "Oh, no. You got my hopes all up about the movie; you're not getting out of it so easily." She steps up to the register while he stands back and marvels at his dumb luck.

Bag in hand, she walks over to him and takes his hand, leading him towards the entrance, as casual as though this was something they always did. "You know," she says, "I bet if we teamed up on her, we could get Raven to ask Wick to the formal. Then I'd be free." 

He looks down as she smiles up at him and imagines her in that dress again, then imagines her on his arm in that dress, pressed up against him in that dress...  _Out_ of that dress...

"She won't know what hit her," he says with conviction, and when Clarke laughs and leans her head against his shoulder, he knows exactly how Raven will feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's _Deadpool_ , they're going to see _Deadpool_. And the title is a line from [_Deadpool_](http://static.comicvine.com/uploads/scale_super/3/33356/654659-l_39256f465150974ee381d8df8fbe0f8c.jpg).  
>  (I reserve the right to come back and change it if that movie ends up sucking.) (Please please please _please_ lords of the movie industry, don't let that movie suck.)  
>  Also the Movie-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named is the 1st Wolverine origin movie, which was a supreme waste of money and film. The only good thing to some out of it was Ryan Reynolds as, you guessed it, Deadpool.

**Author's Note:**

> come give me prompts on [tumblr](http://itsactuallycorrine.tumblr.com)


End file.
